


Satirically Yours: A Scrapbook

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-21
Updated: 2007-02-21
Packaged: 2019-01-19 15:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12412959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: A collection of one-shots and drabbles focussed on no particular era or character.  Nothing long, nothing strenuous - sometimes fluffy, sometimes a little serious.  All, however, are mindless pieces designed to cure boredom and feed procrastination.





	1. Calypso

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Satirically Yours: A Scrapbook**

 

As the title suggests, this is a collection of one-shots and smaller pieces.  Instead of having a long list of fics on my profile page, I decided to give them a designated home and upload each one as a chapter.  It won’t house original fiction, only Harry Potter fiction.  The first is titled **Calypso**.  The definition may not fit exactly, but I’ve used my own interpretation of the theme and I think it’s better than leaving it untitled.  Let me know what you think.  :)

And, because it's the festive season and I'm allowed to dribble on further - Season's Greetings to everyone and anyone who falls across this. May your mangoes stay ripe and your skin not burn (or, may your chestnuts roast and your rear-end not freeze, depending on which hemisphere you reside). Happy Holidays, and stay safe!

 

&&&

**\- Calypso -**

JUNE, 1977

‘Gotten over your little hissy fit yet?’ James grinned at her and flopped down on the couch beside her.

She looked up from the fire, noticed him sitting there, and threw a cushion at his head.  ‘No, you prat.  Bugger off.’

‘You can’t stay angry with me for long, Evans,’ he said, and handed her a bottle of Butterbeer. ‘You love me under all that hostility.’

Lily smiled in spite of herself — damn flirt, she thought — but took the bottle anyway.

‘Cheers,’ he grinned, and clinked their bottles together.

&&&

OCTOBER, 1977

‘You aren’t going to get rid of this cold if you don’t eat,’ he said, pushing her plate of vegetables towards her.

She wrinkled up her nose, and moved the plate to the side.  ‘You’re forgetting that I can’t eat.  It tastes like cardboard,’ she mumbled.  She had a cold, and through her own stubbornness, refused to go to Madam Pomfrey for a Pepper-Up Potion.  She’d had a cough and blocked nose for almost two weeks now, and it had gotten progressively worse.  ‘Hate vegetables,’ she added, wiping her nose with an over-used and tattered tissue.

‘I don’t care if they taste like treacle tart dipped in chocolate,’ said James.  He picked up her fork and speared her cauliflower, then held it up to her mouth.  ‘Open wide, here comes the Comet 180,’ he cooed, waving the fork through the air towards her mouth.

‘Sod off, Potter!’ she said, trying to swat away his hand.  ‘I’m not eating that!’

‘You have to.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I say so.  Now, be a good girl and open that mouth of yours.’

‘Not eating it,’ she mumbled.

James sighed and put the fork down.  ‘You know if you don’t eat, you won’t get better.’

Lily shrugged.  ‘That could be a good thing.’

‘For who?’

‘Me.  I need to fit into that dress, or Petunia will kill me.’

‘Let’s put it this way,’ said James, reaching for Lily’s hand and holding it up. ‘If this wrist gets any smaller, I may as well hold my own hand.’

‘You always were one for self-indulgence.’

James dropped Lily’s hand and picked up the fork again.  ‘If you don’t eat this,’ he said, his voice now stern, ‘I’ll use means considered by many to be ungentleman-like to get you to chew.’

He started to draw his wand out of his pocket.  Lily looked from the fork to the wand and glowered.  She snatched the fork out of James’ hand and shoved the cauliflower in her mouth.  She swallowed quickly and took a drink of water. ‘Hate vegetables,’ she grumbled again.

James grinned and kissed Lily on the cheek.  ‘That’s my girl.’

&&&

JANUARY, 1978

‘What would you say to a bottle of Butterbeer?’ James asked Lily, vaulting over the back of the lounge chair and landing beside Lily.  ‘Just you and me.’

‘I can’t,’ said Lily, picking up her book bag.

‘Why not?  Have a better offer?’

‘Not exactly.  I’m meeting with Matthew to study.’

‘Study what?’

‘Transfiguration.’

‘And you couldn’t do that with me?’ James asked, and Lily had to wonder if he really was upset about that, or if he was joking again.  Sure, James was one of the best in the class, she knew this.  But she also knew that her and James didn’t work well together when one of them was teaching the other something the unknowing person didn’t want to be taught.

‘Yes, I could, but you’re on patrols tonight,’ said Lily. 

‘Am I?  I am!  Right then,’ he said, but Lily could tell that he still wasn’t happy.

She leant over and gave him a kiss.  ‘How about a Butterbeer once you’re back?’

He just shrugged.  ‘Sure.’

‘Good.  Don’t miss me too much,’ she said, and walked out of the common room.

&&&

MARCH, 1978

‘I shouldn’t be here.’

‘Probably not.’

‘If we get caught, we’ll lose our badges.’

‘I won’t let that happen.’

‘You won’t have much of a choice.  McGonagall would have your head.’

‘She should be so lucky to have such a charming specimen on display.’ 

‘When have you ever gotten out of trouble with McGonagall?’

‘Never, I think.’

‘My point exactly.’

‘I just haven’t had a good enough reason yet.’

‘Are you saying I would be that reason?’

‘Yes.’

‘Unsung romantic, you are.’

‘Just don’t tell anyone.  I have a reputation to uphold, here.  And don’t roll your eyes at me.’

‘Who said I was?’

‘It may be dark, and you may be under the covers, but there are some things you just can’t hide.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘Not mine.’

‘I really should go.’

‘I don’t want you to.’

‘I don’t either.’

&&&

APRIL, 1978

‘You should beat me in this exam,’ said James, leaning against the wall as they were lining up for Transfiguration.  ‘All that extra study you’ve been doing.’

Lily nudged him in the ribs and raised her eyebrows.  ‘Jealous, are we?’

‘Not likely.’

‘Good.  I thought I was the only one with green eyes around here.’

‘And very lovely eyes they are, too,’ said James, looking down at her.  ‘They glow in the dark.’

‘Thank you, and no they don’t.’

‘How would you know if they do or don’t?  Just so long as they only look at me,’ said James, smiling as he looked ahead.  ‘Glowing or not.’

Lily rolled her eyes.  ‘But of course.’

‘And just so long as he knows that, too.’

‘He does.’

‘Good.’

‘No problems, then?’

James put his arm around Lily as they walked into the room.  ‘Nope.  Good luck,’ he added, winking at her and grinning.

&&&

JUNE, 1978

‘Graduation tomorrow,’ said Lily, looking out the window from the common room.  ‘It’s a bit scary, isn’t it?’

‘Not really,’ said James, sitting opposite her on the window ledge.  ‘The only thing that’s going to change for a while is that we don’t come here.  Padfoot’s not going to disappear on me, I’m not that lucky.  Same with Moony and Wormtail.’

‘I don’t want to leave,’ Lily said.  She shifted so she was leaning back against James’ chest.

‘It’s time for a change.  You know they say a change is as good as a holiday,’ said James, wrapping his arms around Lily from behind.

‘That’s a load of motivational crap,’ said Lily, resting her arms on either side of James’ legs. ‘They’re just as scared as the next person.’

‘You aren’t scared, are you?’

‘A bit.’

‘Why?  Remus will watch your back and Peter will always be there for a chinwag.  And I don’t think Sirius is going to let anything happen to you,’ said James.

‘And you’ll just be there for comic relief, will you?’ Lily asked, tilting her head up to look at him.  

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and readied himself to reply.  The familiar gesture made her smile.  That’s what she wanted: familiarity. 

‘What else am I good for?’ he said, his arms still around her protectively.

James leant forward and put his cheek against Lily’s — she tried not to giggle as felt a few rough hairs on his chin rub against her.  The feel sent shivers down her spine.

‘What?’ he asked her.  ‘Come on, don’t ruin the moment.  I’m trying to be all romantic here.’

‘And it’s very nice, I’ll grant you,’ she said, tucking her head under his chin.  She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.  She was saving this to her memory scrapbook — how he felt, how he smelt …

She’d long ago realised that he had his own, defining scent.  It wasn’t a domineering smell, it didn’t make her gag from its strength.  It was a spicy, almost woodsy sort of smell that made her heart beat quicker as it seemed to surround her.  It was his scent, and no one else’s.  ‘I wonder what I’d do without you, sometimes.’

Just as the words left her lips, she realised what she’d said and regretted it.  Mortification started to burn in her stomach, and James didn’t say anything.  She could feel the tempo of his heartbeat rise just as her own did; her cheeks burned.  Sure, they’d been together for almost a year now, but they’d never seriously talked about their relationship, or anything about their future.  They just … well, they were just _together_ , and that was all they needed to know. 

And yet, James stayed silent.  Out of her rational fear for making the situation worse, Lily tried not to fidget.  She was determined not to break the silence, but after a miniature eternity in which she died a painful death and hid her humiliated soul, she couldn’t stay in his arms any longer.

Lily started to move away from him — if he was going to laugh at her, she wasn’t going to let him do it in front of her.  Just as she move, though, James tightened his grip around her middle and brought her back against his chest.  He put his mouth up to her ear. 

‘Hey, I’m not going anywhere.  I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me now.’

‘And what if I don’t want that?’ smiled Lily, feeling immensely relieved.  Talk about a melodrama meltdown, she thought.

She picked up his hand and started tracing the veins under the skin.

‘Tough,’ he said, nuzzling her ear.  She laughed and moved away from him, so her back was on the other side of the windowsill.

‘And what if you don’t want that anymore?’ she asked, unmoving as she held his hand.

He blinked slowly, adjusted his glasses and looked outside again.  When he finally looked back at her, her breath hitched in her throat.

‘You’re mine.  And that’s not going to change, not if I can help it.’

Lily nodded, and brought her hand up to her mouth to bite at her nails.  He smirked — he knew it to be her awkward/nervous/self-conscious gesture — and took her hand back in his.

‘Didn’t your mother ever teach you that was a dirty habit?’

Lily rolled her eyes.  ‘No, she must have missed “How to Be a Mother 101”�,’ she said sarcastically.

James shook his head.  ‘I’ll be sure to sign you up, then.  I might check out “How to be a Wife”� while I’m there.’

Lily laughed, until she seen that he wasn’t.  He wasn’t even smiling.  ‘Oh.’

James gave a half-grin then, and got up from the ledge.  ‘Love you,’ he said, dropping a kiss on top of her head before strolling out of the common room, willy-nilly, if you’ll please.  Lily looked at his friendship ring on her right hand, and instead of feeling panicked like she thought she would, she felt delirious, if not a little oddly-relieved.

FINIS

**A/N:** credit must be given to **anokam** , who told me to write a protective James (she just didn’t say what _sort_ of protective he had to be).  Thanks Noka. ;)

 

_Satirise_


	2. Six Degrees of Separation

**\- Six Degrees of Separation -**

****

**Summary:** There is a theory, that every person on the planet is connected through six people. For these Gryffindor students, their six degrees of separation are nothing but a pain in the proverbial.

 

Based (somewhat) on the following excerpt from _Order of the Phoenix_ :

‘Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot,’ he [Ron] said, prodding his queen forwards towards Harry’s quivering castle. ‘Good for you. Just choose someone — better — next time.’ He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it.   
‘Well, I’ve chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he’s better?’   
‘WHAT?’ shouted Ron, upending the chessboard.

 

&&&

 

We knew he was never going to be the same. We knew that things would be really hard for him. We _knew_ he would be changed forever, and all we could do was watch from the sidelines.

Ron, bless his poor, deluded cotton socks, tried to make things light and, well ... _normal._  But every time he tried, I watched as his attempts crashed and burned. Hermione knew this as well, only she kept quiet in the hopes that one day Ron would make a break through. I, however, knew they were both on a hiding to nothing and kept my distance, wandering on to the scene only when it was called for.

‘Talk to him,’ Hermione would encourage me. ‘You might get through to him.’

What could I possibly say to make things better for him? Almost a year has passed since it happened — if a time had come for me to talk to him, it’d well and truly passed. So I lagged behind, watching as he’d slowly start to build himself back up again, only for it to fall down around him. Each time it happened, we went back to square one, and every time I would tell myself that I should be doing something to help him. Sometimes I did, but mostly I just talked about Quidditch. It seemed to work, but we could both tell that I was doing it out of sympathy.  I hated it more than he did, and eventually I gave up.

‘Who are you dating now, Ginny?’ Ron would ask me when Harry was around, as if my answer would break through Harry’s depression and give him the will to carry on. What did he expect, for Harry to fly into a fit of jealousy and demand me to dump whomever I was supposedly dating? Not bloody likely, big brother. He thought that I was the answer to Harry’s problems. I thought he was stark raving mad. 

Hermione shared my opinion, but she thought it wouldn’t work because I was still interested in Dean. Still, as in the past tense. Dean and I broke up on Valentine’s Day — romantic, huh? After almost nine months, we broke up. It was an amicable split — he got all his gifts back, and I got to burn the photos and love letters. See, amicable. To make the story even more juicy, the break-up was held in front of a general audience, namely the Gryffindor common room. Ron was there, as was Harry and Hermione.  No one said anything until we’d stormed off, swearing that if we never saw each other again, it would be too soon. I was dealing with it well enough — then the rumours started.

‘He’s chasing after Parvati, you know.  Always was —’

‘Don’t be stupid, it’s not _his_ fault. She’s still hung up on Harry, plain as day —’

‘But I heard she walked in on him with Lavender —’

‘You’ve got it all wrong! He overhead her telling Granger that she wanted Longbottom —’

New whispers followed Harry in the corridors and taunts were bellowed at me during Quidditch matches — namely from the commentator, who just happened to be Dean. I was contemplating becoming a Beater so I had reason to slog the Bludger at Dean during the next match, when the seat beside me sagged as someone sat down. 

‘So, you pining after anyone these days?’ he said to me. I jumped a mile into the air and had a heart attack on the way back down. ‘Hmm, didn’t know you were so jumpy.’

‘Shut up, Potter,’ I said, blushing, but I couldn’t help but grin.  Damn him!

‘Is that any way to talk to the love of your life?’ He was looking more and more like his old self, and knowing that made me play along with him.

‘Oh Merlin, have we gotten that far already?’ 

‘I believe so. The talk of the greenhouses was that I was writing to your parents for their blessings. Perfectly understandable in such circumstances — who really wants to raise a kid alone these days anyway?’

I groaned. If it weren’t for that damn grin on his face, I probably would have cried.

That was the first and last time we joked about the rumours — they died down after a while but they weren’t entirely forgotten. I couldn’t forget them.

&&&

Every bloody day — it’s Ginny this and Ginny that.

_She’ll never land him — he’s too wrapped up in himself; can you believe she did that, who the hell does she think she is?_

_Every day!_ You’d think he’d get bored of it, but oh no, as sure as the sun would rise, so would his ranting. And I’m sick of it.

I’m his girlfriend now. All that time he spends muttering about Ginny Weasley should be spent on me. They broke up two months ago, for Pete’s sake! It’s not as though they were in love anyway — she started dating him to spite her brother, and it worked. Ron hated Dean after he found out, but Ginny’s level of caring just went through the roof. How _convenient._

How _transparent._

_You’re making too much of it. Of course he’s still going to go on about her, she stuck her claws in him well and good_ , my friends would say. But we’re together now, he practically left her because of me! I’d say back. Lavender understood — she always did. She’s a great friend like that, but even she couldn’t deny that Dean was still hung up on Ginny.

I am not! he’d tell me, and I’d stupidly believe him until the next day, when it started all over again.

I knew he cared for me, we’ve been friends for six years, after all. We’d just gotten to talking one night, and I don’t know — it was different, after that. I began to notice him more, and I’m sure he would come up with reasons just to talk to me. I think Ginny knew it too, which is probably why she’s still hell bent on playing Dean like a fool. She’s under his skin, and he can’t help but look at her. And it’s not just a passing glance, it’s a full-on stare. 

 

But he’s not the only one who watches her. I’ve noticed that there are others in this little staring game of ours.

There’s me watching Dean, who’s watching Ginny, who’s watching Harry, who’s watching Ron, who’s watching Hermione, who’s watching me (she was always too damn perceptive). We form a cute circle now, don’t we? It’s rather amusing, especially now that the pattern has changed. I’m still watching Dean, who’s still watching Ginny, who’s still watching Harry, but this is where it changes. Harry is no longer watching Ron — he’s watching Ginny. Dean and Harry, both watching Ginny — it drives me bloody mad! What’s so special about her? She’s not even that pretty, not really. I suppose it’s because she plays Quidditch; that must be where it comes from. Guys are always attracted to girls who play sports and play it well. See, I’m not such a bitter person. I can still compliment the little bitch while hating her.

Dean’s coming over to me now. He looks shifty — his hands are in his pockets and he looks like he has lockjaw. I don’t like the look of this … 

‘Hey,’ he muttered, toeing the worn carpet with his shoe. ‘I picked you this.’ Then he produced this pathetic looking daisy from his pocket, obviously rumpled from being kept there. The white petals were barely hanging on and the yellow centre was dark with bruises, but I hadn’t seen anything look so beautiful — my first present from him. I jump up and wrap my arms around him, thinking the world a wonderfully romantic place. He wraps his arms around my waist and twirls me. And that’s when it happened. I felt him turn rigid, so I swayed until we’d swapped places, back to how we were when he first walked in.

And then I seen it. Harry Potter was sitting on the couch with Ginny Weasley, both of them blushing and grinning at each other like idiots. I looked back up at Dean. He was biting his lip, looking back down at me. 

 

_Busted._

 

So I told him what he could do with his weed of a present and gave him his marching orders. 

 

&&&

 

She changed. So did I, but the difference was that everyone knew about me. No one seemed to notice her. She used to stand out in a crowd — her own doing, of course. She was much too like the twins in that respect.  She thrived when in the limelight. If I were honest, I’d admit that it became her. Ron was the same.  Not the becoming part; I meant that he loves the attention too. Maybe that’s why he acts as my defence these days — he likes to be in the thick of it all. I don’t mind. I don’t need to say anything while Ron’s around; same with Hermione. They seemed to realise somewhere around September 1 that I’d talk when I was ready and in the mean time, they’d do the talking for me. Ginny, on the other hand, didn’t say anything for or against me. In many ways she was still the same; she didn’t put up with my moods any more than she shunned attention.  At least, that was then. Now she’s changed.

With Ron and Hermione handling my vocal requirements, I became something of a mute. I talked only when necessary, and that was usually to head off an argument between Ron and Hermione. I didn’t really mind, I’d gotten used to it. Plus, there was an upside to not speaking — you’d be surprised at how much you see and learn when you don’t talk.

I knew that Ron and Hermione argued over me, but I also knew that the arguments were getting less frequent and were hardly ever about me anymore. I knew that Ginny and Dean were going to break up long before they did, I could see it as clear as I could the end of my nose. I knew that Neville Longbottom had been told about the prophecy and that he’d never be the same again. 

I also know about the midnight wanderings of Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown that see them in the Astronomy Tower every Tuesday and Friday nights. I’m usually still awake when he drags himself back to the dormitory. Poor beggar must be exhausted.

But the most surprising thing I noticed was that no one else seemed to realise that the loudest Weasley currently residing in Gryffindor Tower had joined me in becoming a recluse.

I heard the sniggering and whispers but I didn’t believe them anymore than I believed that Dumbledore was a Death Eater. Ginny and Dean didn’t break up because of me, they broke up because he couldn’t change her. And he still couldn’t, despite his very best attempts on the Quidditch pitch (that bastard, who does he think he is? Fred and George found out and now they want to pummel him. I think they would have if it weren’t for Bill looking out for Ginny). Her stubbornness amused me, but then again, if she really cared for the guy, she would have compromised, wouldn’t she? 

I was sitting beside her before I even realised what I was doing. By that time, I couldn’t very well walk away from her.

‘So, you pining after anyone these days?’ I said and nearly died myself when she jumped out of her skin. I smirked. ‘Hmm, didn’t know you were so jumpy.’

‘Shut up, Potter,’ she said, gathering her wits and looking a bright shade of red. 

I grinned further. ‘Is that any way to talk to the love of your life?’

‘Oh Merlin, have we gotten that far already?’ She was pretending to be annoyed and I was still very much amused.

‘I believe so. The talk of the greenhouses was that I was writing to your parents for their blessings. Perfectly understandable in such circumstances — who really wants to raise a kid alone these days anyway?’

If spontaneous combustion really did exist, she proved the theory wrong. I’d embarrassed her brilliantly, but at least I’d made her smile. It made me smile too.

 

&&&

 

‘Did you ever find out why they broke up?’ I whispered to Hermione.

‘Quiet, we’ll be thrown out,’ Hermione answered, her head bent over another bloody book. ‘And no, she didn’t tell me.’

‘It’s Harry, I know it is.’

‘I doubt it, she’s not interested anymore,’ she whispered, her eyes darting back and forth. ‘Do you remember Flitwick saying if we had to only memorise the Phobia Charm, or know how to do it?’

‘How would I know?’ I returned. ‘What about all the time they’ve spent together lately?’

‘I don’t think Quidditch practice and a two minute conversation counts, Ron.’

I was about to reply when I looked over my shoulder and saw three people walk in to the library.

Harry, Ginny and Natalie McDonald didn’t even notice us as they headed straight for the Quidditch section, apparently deep in conversation. I was intrigued. Why were they here? If it had something to do with the team, I should be there — I’m part of it, aren’t I? 

‘If we could just get Ron to learn that manoeuvre —’ Ginny started.

‘Do you think he could?’ Natalie interrupted.

‘Only one way to find out,’ settled Harry. Gee — thanks for the vote of confidence, mate.

‘What’s going on?’ Hermione asked me, her head finally out of the book.

‘Quidditch talk,’ I mumbled back before getting up and heading over. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’

Harry and Ginny, I noticed, quickly looked at the ground.  But Natalie said to me, ‘Looking up some moves for you to learn. We think this one should be OK, that’s if you can learn how to do it before the next match.’

The audacity! Some puny little girl — a third year no less! — spoke to me as if I were her Puffskein. Well, she may have some talent on the pitch but I’ll be blowed if I’ll take that off her. I was in the middle of my retort when I noticed Ginny take the book out of Harry’s hands. She moved her hands slowly for some reason, and he handed it over to her. He looked at her, well, almost sadly. What the blighter is happening here? Where’s Hermione when you need her? How the hell am I meant to know what that was all about?

‘ — so we’ll put you to the test,’ Natalie said, and Harry, Ginny and I both turned to look at her, all looking rather stupid. I don’t think any of us heard her. ‘Next practice, whaddaya reckon, Harry?’

‘Er — sure,’ Harry said, and he ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up worse than before and Ginny watched him before blushing ( _blushing?_ Ginny was blushing?). She tried to put the end of her shoe between the cracks in the stone floor.

They all muttered their excuses, and Natalie and Ginny took off. Harry came to sit with Hermione and me but we didn’t talk. After a while he said he was tired and left, but he didn’t head in the direction of the common room.

‘What’s going on there?’ I asked Hermione.

‘Wilfred Bobbleton is using the Phobia Charm on Alfred Wigglesworth, though it’s not working properly. Wigglesworth is meant to be so afraid of that chipmunk that he starts to imitate it, but instead he’s trying to do the foxtrot —’

I started to drift off. She thought I was talking about a picture in her book.

 

&&&

 

She didn’t buy it. I don’t blame her. It was a pretty dodgy attempt, anyway.

It’s not as if I don’t like her, because I do. I like her a lot, but …

But what? There should be no ‘but’. Parvati is the best looking girl in Gryffindor, maybe even the school, and here I am.  Dumped by said girl and wondering if she was right. Was it because of Ginny? I doubt it. She tells me I stare at her. I’m not really staring at her. Sometimes I was, but the last time she thought I was, I was actually looking at the mirror above the fireplace. What the reflection was doesn’t count, because I wasn’t looking at it _directly._

Anyway, she thinks I’m not over her, but I am! We broke up months ago and neither of us has made any attempt to get back together. She ignores me and I bait her as much as I can — actually, our relationship isn’t that much different from when we were dating. She ignored me then as well.

Seamus tells me I should just get it out of my system before Parvati moves on completely. What would he know? He doesn’t have girlfriend troubles. He and Lavender may be making things go bump in the night, but they aren’t dating, so he’s not much help to me at all. Plus, he has this theory that Parvati will launch herself at Harry to make Ginny jealous, and because I’m jealous about Ginny, I’ll go crawling back to her. It sounds a little far-fetched to me, especially since I know that Parvati doesn’t like Harry.  She’s still smarting because he ignored her at the Yule Ball in fourth year.  But I don’t know. Could that happen? We’re not together anymore but I’m working on it — we should be back together by the end of the week. All I need to do is make sure she doesn’t blow up on Ginny again.

Merlin, that was embarrassing. I felt like dying a bit. Seamus heard about it from Neville, who had witnessed the whole sorry episode. ‘Just go and apologise,’ Seamus said that night, and Neville agreed. ‘Obviously she still wants to be with you, otherwise she wouldn’t have gone mental like she did.’

‘Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to her at breakfast,’ I said.

‘So, what she said wasn’t true, was it?’ Neville asked me, and I was about to answer when the door opened and Harry came in. He looked worse than I felt, and all of a sudden, I wanted to sock him in the jaw.

‘No, it wasn’t true at all,’ I said, but I don’t think he heard me. I was gritting my teeth so much that I could hear them grinding against each other, and it was all because of the famous Harry Potter. Well, hang the famous Harry Potter. He doesn’t deserve Ginny, and he sure as hell isn’t going to end up with Parvati, even if she is only trying to get at me.

I glared at him. It was all because of the fucking famous _Harry Potter._

__

&&&

 

It’s all because of Harry.  I’m sure of it.

This game we’re all playing with each other is really beginning to get on my nerves.  I’m even dreaming about it — not even in sleep can I get away from them.

Six people who should all be old enough to know better, staring at each other, thinking that the object of our attention doesn’t know that we’re staring at them. How ridiculous can we get? Parvati’s acting like the jealous girlfriend she is, and Dean’s acting like the jealous ex-boyfriend I didn’t think he could be. Ginny’s looking at Harry like the clueless girl she is (whatever happened to the little hellion Fred and George were moulding?), Harry’s looking at Ron because he needs a brother, but Ron is looking at me because he doesn’t know what to do and I’m supposed to give him the answers. 

What a sorry mess! And _it’s all because of Harry._

We can all see it but Harry, of course.  He’s always been like that — if it’s not put directly in front of him, he won’t understand it. But how _obvious_ can someone get?

If Harry and Ginny would just sort out their acts, it would cause a lot less hassle for Ron and I.  I don’t think Dean and Parvati’s problems would be so easily fixed, though. He tried to make Ginny jealous the other day by giving Parvati a wildflower from the gardens.  It backfired when Ginny was too wrapped up in laughing with Harry to notice anyone else.  Parvati had seen right through his flimsy act.

I think they broke up, actually. If not, Parvati was crying on Lavender’s shoulder in the bathroom for entirely different reasons.

‘Did you ever find out why they broke up?’ he asked me in the library a few days ago.

‘Quiet, we’ll be thrown out,’ I said back to him. I didn’t want to go over this again. I had to take notes on Flitwick’s last Charms class. 

Ron didn’t like my answer, and I could tell he was about to saying something again, so I cut him off by adding, ‘And no, she didn’t tell me.’

He was quiet for a moment, then he said, as if it was the revelation of the century, ‘It’s Harry, I know it is.’

I wanted to give him a blue winner’s ribbon, but I decided not to — sarcasm isn’t really my strong point. So I bluffed him, I told him that Ginny wasn’t interested in Harry anymore, and what had Flitwick told us to do about the Phobia Charm?

‘How would I know?’ he snapped back at me. 

Things went well for the next few days, and I stupidly thought that maybe things would return to normal. After another dinner where Harry and Ginny played eye-tag with each other, Parvati decided that enough was enough, and that her and Ginny needed to have words.

‘Why?’ Ginny asked, confused. She was sitting by the fire, going over what looked to be Quidditch manoeuvres. ‘I’m a little busy, Parvati.’

‘Of course, you wouldn’t want to keep _Harry_ waiting now, would you?’ Her voice was high and loud — everyone was listening.

Ginny’s face went blank, and I gave her credit for looking innocent.  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You can stop pretending, you know! The cat’s out of the bag! You think I didn’t know?’

‘Didn’t know what?’ Ginny asked, and I must admit, the confused routine was really convincing. So convincing I’d almost say that it was genuine.

Parvati advanced on Ginny, a finger outstretched threateningly. She looked positively furious and I was actually scared for Ginny.  But before Parvati could do anything, Lavender came over and dragged Parvati from the room. ‘You’re a bitch, Ginny Weasley! Stay away from Dean or so help me I’ll —’

The portrait closed and everyone turned to look at Ginny in shock. Ginny blinked several times before realising that everyone was looking at her. She turned bright red before picking up her things and running to her dormitory, not even noticing Harry as reached out to her.

Stupid girl. Stupid, _stupid girl!_  If only she’d opened her eyes, she would’ve seen him there, and maybe we could have ended this ridiculous game. Ron’s now coming over to me, grinning like a fool after having witnessed Parvati’s little scene with his sister.

‘How long do you reckon it’ll take for them to get together now?’ he asked me smugly, as if he knew this was going to happen all along. 

 

I couldn’t help it. I buried my head in my hands and groaned — that boy would be the end of me. I was sure of it.

FINIS


	3. Mistaken Identity

  
**\- Mistaken Identity -**

[Delta Goodrem, ‘Mistaken Identity’]

_You’re the brightest witch of your age._

How many times had she heard that?  Everyone was always saying that.

_Exceptionally bright._

 

_Model student._

 

_Worthy for thousands of wizarding laws to be broken just so she can attend ten classes a day, turn into an insomniac, lose all her friends and become a paranoid coffee addict._

 

But what does that matter when you’re the brightest witch of your age?

What does that matter when your professors predict your career highlight as being Minister for Magic?  What does it matter that your friends practically use you because _you’re the brightest witch of your age_ and as such, you’d know the answer to that _one question_ just before class starts?

It doesn’t matter at all!  Not when you have such potential and such prospects — oh no.  You could change the world just by getting out of bed some mornings.

You daren’t imagine the looks on your friends’ faces when you refuse to give them the answer to that _one question_.  The injustice of it all!

But don’t you feel just that little bit of power over them?

And you dare not imagine the looks on the professors’ faces when you tell them that homework and studies aren’t your number one priority anymore.

But don’t you feel just that little thrill running down your spine to be so rebellious?

_You’ve changed._

 

Did you care to notice before or after you disengaged yourself from your thoroughly sickening girlfriend?

_You’re not the same._

 

What gave it away?  The attacking canaries I sent in your direction, aimed at your presumptuous head?

 

_You don’t feel like studying?  Alert the_ Prophet, _she’s not feeling well!_

 

I’m feeling perfectly fine, thank you, and the only reason to alert the _Prophet_ will be to report your tragic death if you keep on going.

_You’ve had a fair break from the books over the summer — you’ll be all set when you get back to studying._

 

And therein lies the problem: everybody says that you’ll study again, but has anyone asked if _you_ want to study again?

Of course not, because you’re the brightest witch of your age!  And everyone knows that the brightest witch of your age goes on to do big and brilliant things …

But what if your idea of brilliant things involves a quiet life with one of your infuriating best friends, and the children you see yourself having with him?

_That’s not you.  When have you ever wanted to become a housewife?_

 

Not just a housewife — someone who is loved and respected.  Someone who is secure — what security can a book give me?  A book can’t hold me at night and tell me all the things I need to hear.

No, that’s me — I’m sure it is.  You just can’t see past yesterday’s girl yet.

FINIS

I apologise if the formatting comes out in HTML text - I tried to change that the first time, but it didn't work.  If it's there, hopefully it didn't interrupt too much. 

Any comments will be most appreciated. 

_Satirise_


End file.
